


Day 20 - Heavydirtysoul

by torigingerfox



Series: Sounds Good Enough [20]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 13:39:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12913065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigingerfox/pseuds/torigingerfox
Summary: Each night Draco visits the very same spot in Kensington Gardens, looking for peace.Only, one night he finds someone waiting for him.





	Day 20 - Heavydirtysoul

**Author's Note:**

> Day 20  
> Song: Heavydirtysoul - Twenty One Pilots  
> Rating: T

 

**Kensington Gardens, London**

_5th July 1996, 4.00 AM_

Draco was sitting on a bench, raking his hair with his long fingers and bathing in the moonlight. He couldn't sleep, again. Since the end of his 5th year, he'd spent every night sitting on that very bench, surrounded by little nocturnal animals and with only the light summer breeze to keep him company. He was so tired, yet he could not sleep. His father was in Azkaban, the Dark Lord having taken residency in his home: A home that used to be his sanctuary and now had become a place he dreaded, with Death Eaters coming and going.

His crazy aunt had moved in, and his mother was too scared to say anything. The only thing he wanted was to feel safe, to live a normal life, without having to fear for his and his mother's safety every minute of every day.

He had taken to disappearing every night, spending the night hours in London, surrounded by peace and silence. It was the only time when he could let his guard down and be himself: A scared, no a terrified, sixteen-year-old boy, who wanted nothing to do with his father's crusade. He knew he wouldn't be that lucky. He knew it was only a matter of time and they'd come after him: Ask something of him; Demand his involvement.

So lost in his thoughts was he, that he failed to notice the lonely figure hiding in the trees not far from where he was sitting. He always told himself "Wizards don't cry, Draco." But that night he was so tired, scared and dejected that he could not stop the steady flow of tears from falling down, wetting first his cheeks then his shirt.

He stood there for hours until the sun started to rise. Then he had to leave, before the early risers, mostly runners, started flooding the bloody park. He glanced around, while holding a portkey, and seconds after he disappeared in a twirl.

The other lonely figure waited a few seconds before disappearing too, unnoticed.

_6th July 1996, 4.30 AM_

Another sleepless night. Another night spent staring at nothing in particular, trying to breathe even though since his father's arrest a heavy weight had settled on his chest, making it bloody difficult.

Draco suddenly felt it was too much. He needed  _more air_  and stood up a little too abruptly, he realised, when he heard the sounds of the little night animals nearby who scattered in all directions, looking for shelter somewhere they deemed safer.

Because they, unlike Draco, could find it.

_Shelter_.

The thought was honestly appealing, but how could he save his mother too? She'd never abandon the Manor, thus risking his father's life to Voldemort's wrath. In the Inner Circle, everyone knew the horrid snake controlled the even more horrid Life-Suckers floating around Azkaban. Lucius was in prison because the Dark Lord wanted him there. If Narcissa or Draco should ever turn their backs on the cause, Lucius' life would not be spared. And he most certainly didn't want him on his conscience.

The blond wizard stopped his pacing, sighing noisily and glanced around to make sure the gardens remained deserted. If someone didn't count the little night animals, of course. The park still silent, Draco dared to speak out loud. He did that, sometimes: Gave himself advice he wouldn't follow; reminded himself what was really important. He believed that certain things needed to be said out loud. If only so the universe could hear him and be a witness to his words.

"Wizards don't cry. Come on, Mr. Misty-eyed, time to go back to that bloody hellhole", he told himself grabbing his own portable and reusable portkey from his pocket, disappearing with a loud swish and a twirl.

"Oh but they do, Malfoy," whispered the mysterious figure that had been watching him every night he'd been there, before heading towards the exit of the park.

_7_ _th_   _July 1996, 4.45 AM_

Who would have known that 7th July 1996 would have been the day on which his life changed? That very morning he'd been summoned by the Snake himself, as he'd been dreading would happen soon enough.

He had a mission for Draco. A suicide mission, that is, since he couldn't possibly hope to survive it.

The Dark Lord wanted him, at bloody 16 years old, to dispose of Dumbledore. The blond had spent the whole day trying to come to terms with the absurdity of his own situation.

Not only would he soon be branded, but the Dark Lord also wanted Draco to kill the most powerful wizard of all time. Truth be told, he never liked the old Headmaster, but one had to be a fool not to recognise his immense power. How could he even hope to succeed? And yet, he  _had to_. His family would be killed if he didn't follow through with that ridiculous task.

He'd spent the whole day obsessing over his imminent death. For how could he possibly come out of it alive? Once everyone had either left or fallen asleep, he deemed it safe to flee the Manor, seeking refuge in what had come to be his safe haven.

How funny, a Muggle park had become the only place where he felt at peace.

Draco was walking in the gardens, not paying much attention to his surroundings, as he was absorbed in his own destructive thoughts. Funny thing was, he wasn't even panicking anymore. He had already experienced his fair share of panic attacks during the day:

Hyperventilating; cold sweat; vomit; the whole package. Peachy.

The most difficult thing had been hiding his dread and his violent reaction to the news from his mother since he couldn't allow her to see him fall apart. He had to be strong, if not for himself then for the woman who gave him life and loved him more than anyone could ever hope to be loved.

So, he'd come to the park to fall apart in peace, and once he'd got there, he had found that he felt so numb he couldn't even cry.

The only thing he felt like doing was staring into space while sitting on his usual bench. And that's precisely where he was headed. Only, when he got there someone else was occupying it: The last person he needed to stumble upon.

And yet, she wasn't surprised when she saw him, it was as if she'd been expecting him.

"Took you long enough tonight," was all she said.

She didn't even turn around to greet him, simply gestured for him to sit next to her.

Draco was petrified and when he didn't immediately comply, she scoffed: "I swear I don't bite, Malfoy."

She reminded him of a fierce lioness, what with that mane of hers. Once he had recovered from the initial shock of finding her there, waiting for him, he cleared his throat. Ultimately choosing to comply with her demand, he reached her at the bench, sitting down.

"Oh, it's not your teeth I'm worried about, Granger. It's your right hook."

She chuckled. "Oh yeah, that was fun. Sorry about your nose by the way."

"Why are you here?" he asked shaking his head.

"Because you are lonely and scared," she replied, suddenly all business. "And even though you're an obnoxious prat I don't think you're unredeemable. You know what  _he_ is doing is wrong. I refuse to believe that someone as intelligent as you would truly believe that Muggleborns stole your magic or that my blood is different from yours."

"What, you got me all figured out now? I didn't think I'd live to see the day in which Hermione Granger, bookworm extraordinaire, would be wrong about something."

"Oh come on, Malfoy, I've been here every single night for the past three weeks! I stumbled upon you by chance, to be honest. I have been hiding behind those trees as I didn't want to be seen. And then I started watching you.  _Really_ watching you. And I have been doing it every night since."

She clutched the edge of the bench with both hands as if she had to prevent herself from taking hold of his pale ones or shaking him by the shoulders. "I've seen you panicking. I've seen you on the verge of tears. I've seen you mad: kicking randomly in the air and throwing insults at that monster's acolytes. So don't try to feed me your bullsh-"

"Stop! Granger, just…listen. You have it wrong. I'm not scared: I'm terrified. And yeah, I was an obnoxious prat, but I've always thought I had a reason to feel superior. Now I realise it's so not true. There's nothing special about my family. My surname doesn't give me the right to treat others like dirt. And what he's doing isn't wrong. It's disgusting, revolting, appalling and I want nothing to do with it. But I'm sorry to burst your bubble. I can't be redeemed. I've watched people be killed and done nothing. I've been forced to torture people and I had to comply. It was me or them, and we both know I'm not particularly brave. Quite the opposite, actually. So…you see I'm as far from redeemable as any human being could possibly be."

Granger shook her head vigorously and, after a few moments of hesitation, rested her hand on Draco's thigh. He stiffened, not because it was a Muggleborn touching him, but because he wasn't used to human contact in general. Slytherins never hugged, nor comforted each other physically. To do so would have been seen as a sign of weakness, on both counts. She sighed, bringing him back to reality. "Draco, I know you don't want this. We can help, the Order cou-"

"The Order can't do anything, Granger. He has my family, OK? He has my family and if I don't play the good Death Eater part he'll torture them. And then he'll kill them. I can't let that happen."

"We can get them to safety too, don't you understand? They will be safe with us. You just need to trust me."

Draco was panting, his breaths short and shallow, his skin covered by a thin film of sweat and his eyesight was playing weird tricks on him. All he could think of was his mother, and the thought of her tortured or dead had been enough to send him into one of his panic attacks.

Hermione held his hand even tighter, all the while emitting soothing sounds, much like mothers do with their babies to calm them down. And it worked. Draco could feel his heart rate slowing down, his sight returning, the nauseating adrenaline leveling off. How was it possible that a girl he'd always despised and treated poorly would also be the one to read him like an open book? And most importantly, why had he been too stupid and narrow-minded to realise she was brilliant?

"Granger," he half whispered, his voice throaty. "I'm lost. I don't know what to do. Can you save my heavy, dirty soul? Can you do this?"

"No," she replied firmly.

Draco searched her eyes, taken aback by her strong denial.

What he saw there was kindness mixed with resolution. "You can save your own soul, Draco. But I swear I will be there holding your hand every step of the way if you need me to."

**The End.**


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